


The Devil Makes Three

by manic_intent



Series: Frontier Cadence [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Full spoilers, M/M, That postcanon fix-it which is just an excuse to write Farquez really, Things that happen when you ship two trolls together, postcanon, troll husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 08:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8197112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “I really don’t get it,” Faraday said out loud, though not quite loud enough to carry to the next room. His new roommate said nothing. Faraday prodded him with a toe. “Hey. Vasquez.” In the pile of blankets beside his cot, Vasquez groaned, now awake, pulling one of the furs over his head. “Please God let me die.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Goodnight and Billy keep hijacking the fics that are meant to be Farquez fics… 
> 
> Also, after some thought, I’ve decided to change “Josh” into “Faraday”, because it just feels weird to me after the 2nd watch of the film for this ‘verse to have the first name, even though it’s in Faraday’s POV.

“I really don’t get it,” Faraday said out loud, though not quite loud enough to carry to the next room. His new roommate said nothing. Faraday prodded him with a toe. “Hey. Vasquez.” 

In the pile of blankets beside his cot, Vasquez groaned, now awake, pulling one of the furs over his head. “Please God let me die.” 

“Y’know, that’s what Goody said this morning,” Faraday said thoughtfully. “Kinda right before Miz Cullen had me switch places with Billy. Even though that room’s meant t’be the infirmary.” 

“You nearly die today, _pendejo_ ,” Vasquez muttered. “You just too stupid, no notice.” 

“Today?” Faraday thought back over the day. “When? I was in bed all day.” Walking still hurt, even with the laudanum: Vasquez had to pretty much haul Faraday bodily into the new room.

“Billy was in the room when Goody said that, no?” 

“Aw, Billy? He and I are good.” There was a disbelieving sniff from Vasquez. “Seriously. We’ve all been through a real… real big bondin’ experience. We’re all, uh, what’s the word, _com-par-dres_.” 

“Billy no friendly with anyone but Goody. Obvious. You just so stupid.” Vasquez growled, then he shut up abruptly at a faint sound from next door, that in Faraday’s opinion, sure as hell sounded like two people _kissing_ pretty goddamned loudly. 

“That’s what I don’t get,” Faraday lowered his voice into a whisper. 

“What?” Vasquez’s voice was scratchy with annoyance. 

“They’re, well. They’re both _men_.”

There was a long silence. Then Vasquez began to laugh, in that weird way that he did sometimes, all huffing coughs. “I canna believe this.” 

“Believe what?” Faraday scowled over the side of his cot, even though it pulled painfully at the wounds high in his shoulder and thigh. 

“You… you say you world’s greatest lover,” Vasquez gasped, “But… but you no ever with man?” The rest of his words dissolved into chuckles, and he was wiping his eyes when he finally calmed down, grinning. “You a _liar_ , Faraday.”

Faraday flushed, about to bite out a retort, then he hesitated. The logic of Vasquez’s statement was undeniable. “Sodomy’s kinda a felony. Like. _Death sentence_ felony.” 

He could feel the irony in the air even as he said it. Vasquez snorted. “Nobody say nothing about sodomy. Also. We just kill what, two hundred men? Maybe more? I kill others before that. I think you also.” 

“You ain’t a God-fearin’ man?” Faraday asked thoughtfully, which got a sharp laugh. 

“I know the Good Book. I kill, I steal, I lie, I no honour my papi or mama, I always covet everyone’s things. Especially their wife.” Faraday let out a startled laugh, even as Vasquez continued, “So I think, if I ever do meet God, he and I already have many things to talk about, no? So why I judge what someone else do? It between _them_ and God. Besides,” Vasquez admitted, “that Billy, he scare me.”

“He doesn’t scare _me_.” Faraday could outdraw Billy’s pigsticker trick. Probably. 

“That’s how I know you stupid.” Vasquez said, unimpressed. “This world, some people snakes, some people jackals, some dogs, most sheep. Some people just plain loco, like Chisolm. But there also people like Billy. They the big, bad wolf. You cross them, you die.” 

“Funny. Most of the stories I’ve heard, the wolf’s the one that dies in the end,” Faraday pointed out. 

“‘Cos those are the stories that the sheep like to tell each other, no?” Vasquez said, and laughed, a coyote’s mocking laughter.

“I’m not a sheep,” Faraday muttered, even though the conversation was, even for him, starting to get ridiculous.

“No, no. People like you, like me, like Goody, Horne, rest his soul, even Red Harvest, we jackals. We live around the sheep. Eat what we can. One day we too slow, and—“ Vasquez clicked his tongue, miming a shot at his temple. He laughed again, when Faraday flinched.

“ _You’re_ loco, my friend,” Faraday told him halfheartedly. 

In the quilts, he could see the faint outline of Vasquez twisting around, trying to get comfortable. “Go to sleep, _guero_. Try not to think too hard. You hurt yourself that way.”

“I think I’m already startin’ to miss Goody,” Faraday said mournfully.

#

Faraday tried not to make it too obvious that he was staring at Goodnight and Billy during breakfast. Emma made a fine spread, and the townsfolk were still mighty generous with their supplies: there was bread, ham, eggs, beans, cheese, even _sausages_. “Fresh from the Lightwoods,” Emma said proudly, as she set that on the table. Beside her, Billy was busy laying out cutlery and the rest of the dishes, carefully unobtrusive.

Vasquez kicked Faraday under the table. Faraday looked sharply at him, only for Vasquez to give him an innocent grin even as he helped himself to sausages. Beside Vasquez, Goodnight was saying something convoluted about giving thanks. Billy settled down after fussing over Goodnight, shooting both Vasquez and Faraday a dead-eyed stare before picking some bread and cheese. 

“Did you rest up all right?” Emma was asking Vasquez. 

“I used to sleeping rough. This fair,” Vasquez said indifferently. “Billy had floor, last few days.” The spare beds were also donated from the town, apparently, though Emma’s guest room couldn’t fit two cots. 

“I don’t see why _I_ had to move into the other room,” Faraday said, in between shovelling beans into his mouth. “I’m more bunged up than Goody over there. And ‘sides, I don’t think the two of you were usin’ both be— _yeeowch!_ ” He glared at Vasquez again.

Vasquez shot him another innocent look. “You want to get that checked, friend.” 

Goodnight raised his eyebrows. “You might not be well enough yet to be out of bed, Faraday.” 

“Speak for yourself.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll be fit to ride in a few days,” Goodnight said genially. “Don’t want to presume too long on Miz Cullen’s patience.”

“Nonsense, you’re all welcome here,” Emma said warmly. “What with Billy helpin’ out around the house and Vasquez in the fields, I feel like _I_ should be the thankful one, rightly. Nobody here should be pushing themselves to get back on the road for my sake.” 

“You can farm?” Faraday glanced at Vasquez, who rolled his eyes. 

“I grew up on farm, _guero_.” 

Emma poured them all coffee, and as she bustled off to brew the kettle again, Vasquez told Goodnight dryly, “We hear you last night, by the way.” 

Goodnight froze, but it was Billy who narrowed his eyes, shoulders shifting subtly, his hands out of sight. And hell, _now_ Faraday could see it, that killing instinct, right out in the open. Before, usually, Billy was always so much in the background, unobtrusive, hidden in Goodnight’s shadow. “Well,” Goodnight coughed. “Uh.” 

“Maybe you try not to pull anything,” Vasquez said cheerfully, though his eyes were fixed warily on Billy. 

“Ah, well, I don’t think anythin’ remotely athletic will be in my future for weeks yet,” Goodnight said lightly, though he was tense, and that decided Faraday on the goddamned matter. It really _was_ none of his business. Watching Goodnight get this uncomfortable was just plain unsettling, after what they'd all been through. Faraday had always been a big believer in everyone minding their own business, especially where gambling debts were involved, and this was no different. 

He helped himself to more beans, keeping his tone just as light. “Good, ‘cos I think the ‘doc’ in town ain’t gonna be up to fixin’ you up all over again with no good reason. I think it ain’t right that we had to get fixed up by a horse doctor, mind you.”

“Closest real doctor’s a week away, that’s why.” Goodnight relaxed, and after a moment, Billy did too, leaning over to murmur something into Goodnight’s ear. A ceasefire, re-declared. They made careful small talk until Emma reappeared.

Faraday tried to put it out of his mind, but after breakfast, he sat in the sun with Goodnight in chairs at the porch, watching Vasquez head off to the fields, fencing posts bound to the saddle of his horse. Sheer curiosity welled up, all over again, and Faraday found himself saying, “Mind if I ask you a question?” 

Goodnight looked at him with some surprise. Billy was in the house with Emma, helping with clean up, and they were alone. “Well sure,” Goodnight said mildly. 

Faraday cleared his throat. Now that he actually _had_ Goodnight alone, he _was_ still curious, but on hindsight, he probably should’ve thought over his first question. “Uh, y’see, I was wonderin’, that’s to say—“

“You’re gonna ask me about Billy?” Goodnight inquired dryly. 

“Kinda. Billy’s involved, sure.”

“We’re normally very careful,” Goodnight said, still dry as dust. “But I woke up after a bit of a bad turn, last night. The dreams, you see. They’ve been bad since the war.”

“Can see how that would be the case.” Faraday let out his breath. “Nevermind.”

“Do I see Joshua Faraday decidin’ not to shoot his mouth after all? Hell’s freezin’ over, I do reckon.” Goodnight grinned, amused. 

“I don’t think I’ve been drunk in days,” Faraday said, maybe too defensively. Goodnight shook his head. 

“All right, son. Are we gonna have a problem?”

“Nope. No. What don’t hurt me ain’t none of my business.” Goodnight glanced over to his left, to the road that led down to the mines and the town, and Faraday added, “That was different. Had a debt. Chisolm bought my horse.” 

“What about Vasquez?”

“Didn’t sound to me like he cared. Had a whole speech goin’ about why he didn’t give a fuck, even.” 

Goodnight nodded to himself, relaxing into the chair. “So. Ask.” 

“Well uh, did you start it? Or did he start it?” 

Goodnight let out a startled laugh. “Somehow it figures that this is your question, Faraday. Normal people would’ve gone, ‘How different is it?’ or ‘Ain’t you two scared of gettin’ caught?’ or ‘Ain’t you got any interest in women?’”

“Don’t see the point of them questions,” Faraday pointed out. “It’s obviously gonna be different. I don’t reckon people willin’ to face down Bogue and his army are scared of much. And I was thinkin', I’ve met people who ain’t interested in men _or_ women. And uh, people interested in chickens. Though that’s. Kinda a story I’m still tryin’ to forget.”

“Billy ‘started it’,” Goodnight said absently, looking back over the fields. In the distance, Vasquez was already industriously setting up the second picket post. “Took me by surprise, to tell you the truth. Still does.”

“Why’s that?” Faraday asked, even more curious now. “You’re _the_ Goodnight Robicheaux. Your name’s famous hereabouts. Probably northwards, even. And it’s already been fifteen years. You’re a livin’ legend, rightfully so.”

Goodnight said nothing for a while, sinking further into his chair, then he exhaled, in a low whistle. “You saw through me that day. Both days. When I couldn’t fire that rifle. When I was teachin’ that line up. I used to tell the men I taught that you got t’hate what you’re shootin’ at, to get them to focus. Good trick, too. Worked for me before. Thing is. Most days, there’s nothin’ out there that I hate more than myself.”

“Hey, you showed me wrong fair and square,” Faraday disagreed carefully. Goodnight seemed to be in a strange mood now. Still, Faraday had never been someone who wouldn’t man up to a mistake, whether it involved a bad bet for a horse or a misunderstanding over identity. “You’re as good as they say. Better.”

“I left.” 

“And you came back. ‘Sides, if it weren’t for you and Billy, coverin’ my ass, I probably would’a died chargin’ that wagon. Hell, I wouldn’t have tried it if I didn’t know that you were there. You’re the best shot this side of the world with a rifle, no mistakin’ that.” 

Goodnight seemed about to say something else, but he straightened up instead, glancing behind him. After a moment, Billy ghosted over on silent feet, leaning against the porch post behind Goodnight’s chair. He eyed Faraday with the calm indifference of a perfectly trained hawk. All leashed killing instinct, waiting for an excuse to pounce. 

“You should get more rest,” Billy told Goodnight. 

“I like it here in the sun. _Faraday_ should be abed. But he’s providin’ pleasant company.” 

Billy’s stare was potent with disbelief. “Pleasant.” 

“I can be pleasant,” Faraday protested. “‘Course, I’d be more pleasant if there was whisky involved. I’m gettin’ mighty parched here.” 

Goodnight caught Billy’s wrist when Billy’s fingertips curled, and murmured something that had Billy roll his eyes and head back into the house. “He’ll try and dig somethin’ up,” Goodnight said comfortably. 

“He do that often?” Faraday watched Billy go. “Do whatever you want?” 

“Yeah?”

“And,” Faraday said slowly, “you’re still ‘surprised’ that he’s stickin’ with you.” Seemed mighty obvious to Faraday what the deal was now. Hell, he was even a little envious. Devotion like that was rare in the frontier, where sentiment was often the first to die. 

“Your point bein’?” Goodnight inquired, just as Billy reappeared, tossing a small bottle at Faraday’s head. 

“Thankin’ you kindly,” Faraday told him, as he unscrewed the bottle, and Billy rolled his eyes, settling back against the post. Over the golden wheat, Vasquez’s broad back cut a sharp bulwark against the indefatigable sky.

#

Faraday had felt a little guilty leaving Emma to her own devices, but the townsfolk seemed to have pulled together nicely, and besides, he’d been itching for the open road ever since Goodnight and Billy upped and left early. A little to his surprise, Vasquez followed.

“Doesn’t seem right,” Vasquez said, grinning, as they left the farm in their dust. “I see Chisolm when he was leavin’, he got parade line. _Thank you, Mister Chisolm. Thank you kindly_.” He mimicked a child’s voice. “They no like brown people and Irish people so much?”

“We’ve kinda been livin’ off their good graces for weeks,” Faraday pointed out. It’d been the longest he’d ever lived off _anyone’s_ good graces, and he was still struck by the sheer novelty of it. Emma had been sorry to see them go, even. 

“ _You’ve_ been,” Vasquez shot back. “I fix up farm. Plough field too. Feed goats and chickens.”

“You probably could’ve stayed. Miz Cullen seemed real thankful for the help.” 

“I like her. So. Best not to bring her trouble. If I stay too long, trouble always comes.” 

“But it’s all right to bring _me_ trouble, is that what you’re sayin’?” 

Vasquez smirked. “You _already_ trouble.”

“Why didn’t you leave with Chisolm? Did he ask you to stay?” 

“Eh, I was shot in the arm too,” Vasquez pointed at his sleeve. “Also Goody no as hurt as you. I thought maybe he leave early. Take Billy with him. Leave you alone with lady, I think, dangerous, no?” Vasquez grinned widely, sharp with fey humour. “She probably shoot you. Two days, three days.” He folded his fingers into a pistol, taking aim at Faraday.

“ _You’re_ the one with a five hundred dollar bounty on his head,” Faraday scowled. 

“I know,” Vasquez said proudly. “Big bounty.”

“You’re loco, man. Five hundred dollars is a _hell_ lot of money. Which means. A lot of bounty hunters gonna be lookin’ for you.” 

“Only Chisolm ever find me when hiding and he said he no look no more.” Vasquez said, all reckless indifference. “But I think Billy had good idea. This is white man’s world. To live in it, easier if you have white man friend.” 

“I think I see where this is goin’. Right. First. You ever heard’a this song called ‘No Irish Need Apply’? Kinda helps sum up the problem.” 

“You no talk like Irish,” Vasquez pointed out. “Until Goody said, I not even know.”

“Yes, well,” Faraday took a comfortable gulp of his whisky, “lesson one for the ‘white man’s world’. Try to look _and_ sound like one of the sheep. That way they don’t notice when you fleece them. Or if they do, they don’t get so mad. Generally. Which gets me to the second problem. Billy and Goody get away with the boss-and-servant act ‘cos Billy naturally fusses around Goody all the time. You and me, though…” 

“…you need to practice words with many ‘syllables’?” Vasquez supplied, and smirked when Faraday choked on his second gulp. 

“Third, what’s the point? We’re both comfortably rich. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do with the money. This is all new to me.” Faraday’s Life Plan had always involved a cycle of gambling, getting drunk, leaving town while the going was still good, and gambling in the next town, rinse, repeat. Gambling for small change seemed kinda trite now that his saddlebags were heavy with fistfuls of shiny. “Anyone ask what Goody and Billy were gonna do with their bit?” 

“Buy shares in railway. Billy tell me. He smile funny when he say it, so, maybe not true.” 

“What are _you_ gonna do with your money? Sit on it? I mean. If you want my help with somethin’, sure,” Faraday said, in a burst of generosity. Vasquez _had_ saved his ass a few times recently, after all. “Like if you wanna buy a farm or somethin’. I can handle the buy, put it in your name.”

“No farm. No shares. You know why I leave Mexico?”

“I’m guessin’ you probably killed someone,” Faraday said dryly, and Vasquez smirked at him.

“Maybe. Maybe a little of that. But I leave Mexico because I want to see the world. My grandfather once say there conquistador blood in my family, makes us hungry. I want to see everything. The big snow, the high ice, far north. The deep forest. The great deserts. Take steamship to ‘nother land. Go over the big sea, see it eat the sky from end to end.” Vasquez gestured reverently at the rolling plains around them. 

“…Which part of that kinda life made you rack up _five hundred dollars_ in bounty, my friend?” 

Vasquez shrugged. “My mama, she like to say, she has a coyote for a son, not a boy. Trouble, everywhere trouble.” 

Faraday drank, thinking. Vasquez’s dream surprised him with its sheer unabashed audacity. Explore the whole world? Even the Rose Creek take wouldn’t be enough. And what was the point? Or _was_ there a point? “I think you got no right to call other people ‘loco’.” 

“Maybe.” Vasquez grinned fiercely. Something burned in his eyes, so much like a special taste of madness. Wanderlust. Here was a creature of the open road, wild and strange. 

Faraday looked away, abruptly and uncomfortably covetous. When had _he_ had a dream, let alone something as crazy as that? Faraday had muddled comfortably through life. He’d even been a little proud of how he’d dealt with the cards he’d been given. The hell had he been thinking? He’d been _sleepwalking_ , no better than one of the sheep. He’d never realized it before.

They cracked out a tin of beans for dinner, and while mopping up the last of his with some bread, Faraday said, “Okay.” 

Vasquez blinked at him. “ _¿Qué_?”

“We stick together. Uh. Go north, I guess. I got nothin’ else to do anyhow,” Faraday said challengingly, when Vasquez started to grin. 

“Okay, _güerito_. You watch my back, I watch yours.”

#

Three days on the road with his new companion and Faraday was starting to regret it. Vasquez had clearly been alone for a while: he’d developed a monumental number of strange habits that Faraday had somehow failed to notice before, when they’d all been on their way to Rose Creek together. He blamed the whisky.

Case in point: Vasquez’s tendency to get naked and splash around whooping in ice-cold streams. “You’re scarin’ the fish!” Faraday yelled at him from the safety of the bank, nursing his emergency, near-empty bottle of whisky. This was the problem with the wilderness, Faraday decided. It had a sad lack of whisky. 

Vasquez paused, grinning that sun-touched feral grin of his, crouched knee-deep in the water. “Water is nice.” 

“For drinkin’, sure. Maybe cookin’. And for makin’ whisky with. For frolickin’ in, I ain’t so sure.” 

“You scared, _cabrón_.” 

Faraday sighed. “Oh no. Not fallin’ for that.”

“Chicken,” Vasquez told him, and clucked his tongue, smirking. “ _Chicken_.” 

“Look-“ 

“ _Puk-puk-puk_.” 

“You did not just make chicken noises at me,” Faraday growled. “What are you, twelve?”

“ _Puk-puk-puk_ ,” Vasquez retorted, and laughed when Faraday tossed the whisky bottle at him, twisting aside and catching it. 

The split second of distraction was all Faraday needed: he tackled Vasquez in the stream, causing Vasquez to yelp and flail, then gurgle as he was shoved under the icy water. The bottle went spinning into the stream. Big hands shoved at Faraday’s collar, then dug into his vest and hauled him down as well. The cold was like a slap to the face. Coughing, scrambling to get up, Faraday gasped and shook himself, blinking, clothes sticking to his skin. He got a brief glance of Vasquez’s smirk, then they were wrestling and swatting at each other on the bank. Vasquez’s laughter was infectious. 

In a straight up brawl, though, Faraday had more than a few tricks. He pinned Vasquez to the grass, grabbing for his wrists, but Vasquez seemed to clue in, getting a hand free, then he grabbed a fistful of Faraday’s hair and dragged him over for a sloppy, openmouthed kiss. 

Faraday jerked back instinctively. “The fuck—“ he gasped, and Vasquez smirked at him, _daring_ him, the right bastard. Faraday bared his teeth and shoved Vasquez back down, giving him a _proper_ kiss, goddamn it, real technique, _thanks_. Vasquez squirmed against him, as though startled, fingers jumping briefly to Faraday’s throat. Then he relaxed, with a low, purred groan, kissing back. Messy, but points for enthusiasm.

“Not _that_ different from kissin’ a girl,” Faraday decided, when they broke for air. The beard got a bit of getting used to, sure. And Vasquez was all lean, hard muscle, any fat on him long sloughed off by the open road. Faraday… hell, Faraday decided that he kinda liked it. 

Vasquez grinned challengingly. “You not so bad.”

“Not _bad_?” Faraday pretended to bristle. “Bet that’s the best kiss _you’ve_ ever had, asshole.”

“Don’t know about that,” Vasquez said cheerfully. “The second Maria, she was really something.” 

Faraday kissed him to shut him up, and it wasn’t so bad, like this, the sun warm on the back of his neck and arms, his clothes slowly starting to dry out. Vasquez seemed happy to kiss, one hand curled lightly over the nape of Faraday’s neck, the other stroking his back.

“I got another trick,” Vasquez whispered, just as Faraday was cautiously starting to get used to it. “You lie on back.” 

“What kinda trick?” Faraday asked suspiciously, but he let Vasquez help him strip off his gunbelt, his wet shirt and breeches and boots, down to his underclothes, navigating buttons with quick fingers. He wasn’t hard, but he bit down a gasp once Vasquez got a hand experimentally over his cock and stroked. Too strange. Faraday was going to say something along those lines, only for Vasquez to smirk challengingly at him again and shift down between his thighs. 

And then—aw _hell_. Faraday wasn’t a stranger to his cock getting sucked, of course, though usually he had to pay for the pleasure. He’d had women who made a show of it, teasing and licking, and had women who did it brisk, just to get it over with. Vasquez sucked cock like he actually _enjoyed_ it. He couldn’t quite take Faraday all the way but he got his hand on the rest and groaned with his mouth full. When Faraday’s hips twitched up, out of his control, Vasquez choked a little but _moaned_ before Faraday could gasp out some kinda apology, and all right, this, right here, was possibly the most deviant thing Faraday had ever done and he _loved it_. 

“Damn you look good,” Faraday hissed, which made Vasquez laugh, even with Faraday’s cock down his throat, the crazy bastard, and then he sucked _harder_. Faraday hadn’t thought that was possible. He ended up, fine, whimpering and _maybe_ begging and most definitely spilling too fast, no warning given, blindsided by lust. Vasquez caught most of it in his hand and spat into the grass, grinning like the Devil. 

“I hate you,” Faraday told him hoarsely, when he got his breath back. 

“I know that’s the best _you’ve_ had,” Vasquez shot back smugly. “You no ‘world’s greatest lover’—“

The rest of his words cut into a yelp as Faraday hauled him over, rolling back on top. “Gonna make you eat those words,” Faraday growled, and bit Vasquez on the mouth when he laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent
> 
> Okay… I think I’ve gotten these ficbunnies out of my system for now… Back to all my deadlines D: 
> 
> Ethan Hawke actually has another Western out this year, In the Valley of Violence, which looks pretty good! :O Hoping it gets wide release in Australia. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFD4f1_eZno
> 
> Song title from the band of the same name, which makes some really great Western writing music. ;) Their “Old Number Seven” is a very Faraday song. 
> 
> Refs:  
> Brief history of railroad/shares: http://railroad.lindahall.org/essays/brief-history.html  
> No Irish Need Apply: https://apps.cndls.georgetown.edu/projects/borders/items/show/86  
> Background reading for writing Goodnight: Confessions of a former neo-Confederate: http://www.vox.com/first-person/2016/9/30/13090100/confederacy-myths-lost-cause
> 
> Final notes:   
> I've watched the film three times now, and I still can't really make out their accents more than 80% of the time (bad ear). The third go the film was meant to be subtitled but it wasn't (?? cinema) so... eh, I tried. :o Which means there's probably weird errors here and there (Goody met Billy six years ago? ten years ago? Unsure now), feel free to point out continuity errors.


End file.
